


Began To Slip

by Orchidaexa



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Gen, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 02:31:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19164007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orchidaexa/pseuds/Orchidaexa
Summary: At first, Aziraphale and Crowley had become inseparable. They needed each other, deeply and acutely aware of how close they had come to oblivion. At first, they had fallen into a routine, meals at the ritz and little restaurants where people knew their names. And slowly but surely, it began to slip.





	Began To Slip

**Author's Note:**

> This is somewhat of a vent fic and I wanted to write more but I also wanted to just. Post this.
> 
> Probably will never have a proper ending but j needed to write this for myself.

At first, Aziraphale and Crowley had become inseparable. They needed each other, deeply and acutely aware of how close they had come to oblivion. At first, they had fallen into a routine, meals at the ritz and little restaurants where people knew their names. And slowly but surely, it began to slip. 

 

At first it was little things, a refusal from Aziraphale because he had important reading to do, or Crowley clamming up as soon as he saw the angel, that turned into outright avoidance that Aziraphale was too tired to follow up. 

 

Soon, Aziraphale's erratic bookshop hours became even more so, the angel barely being able to face the public. One such a day, when the bookshop was locked as Aziraphale finished his fifth packet of biscuits that morning as he read, Crowley breezed in. He was too tense, manic, and stunk of alcohol. 

 

Aziraphale looked up in concern. "My dear boy," he'd protested as the demon swanned past to the wine cellar. "Surely you didn't drive in this state?" Crowley gave a helpless little shrug. He looked terrible, even with his glasses on you could see the bags under his eyes. They were deep purple, making his skin look sallow and unwell. Sighing, Aziraphale called out to him anyway. "Bring the packet of biscuits from the kitchen for me, my dear?"

 

There was a pause and rustling through bags and cupboards before Crowley nervously peeked his head through the door. "You haven't got any." He went back to raiding the cellar for wine. 

 

Frowning at the empty packet in his hand, Aziraphale sighed and resigned himself to the idea of not eating until he absorbed some of Crowley's manic energy. 

 

Bottles clinked together as Crowley paced through the main room to leave, muttering under his breath. "Thanks, angel." 

 

Their eyes caught and they both paused, unspoken questions and concerns on each others lips. But the moment went, and Crowley slipped out the door, off to find a quiet place to drink in his Bentley. 


End file.
